


Water Through Your Fingers

by MrsNoggin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale likes it a LOT, Crowley is a hungry hungry boy, Crowley's Hair - Freeform, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hair Pulling, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 01:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20322853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: Crowley was beautiful. Always. Every time Aziraphale saw him, he was struck by it. He wasn’t, of course, what an angel should find beautiful. He wasn’t light and pretty and ethereal. He was dark and dirty and made of bone and flesh and fire.Aziraphale liked Crowley's hair long.Prompt fic for "Braid or Curls" challenge on Agnes Nutter's Nice and Accurate Prompts.





	Water Through Your Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to The Brownie Corner, AKA[ EnglandWouldFallJohn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn/works) & [ Irrevocably_Sherlocked (Snoggy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/pseuds/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/works) for the inspo and read-through and every damn other thing they do for me. 
> 
> This is a prompt fic for The Nice and Accurate Prompts of Agnes Nutter, whom you should follow on Twitter immediately - [ @NceAccrtPrpmts](https://twitter.com/NceAccrtPrmpts%22)

Crowley was beautiful. Always. Every time Aziraphale saw him, he was struck by it. He wasn’t, of course, what an angel should find beautiful. He wasn’t light and pretty and ethereal. He was dark and dirty and made of bone and flesh and fire.

“You’ve grown your hair.” Aziraphale pointed out, probably pointlessly. After all, it wasn’t like it would have happened without him noticing. Crowley mumbled something, still swiping through goodness only knew what on his phone. 

“It’s beautiful,” he continued, knowing he was always listened to, regardless of appearances. There was a pause in the swiping, but only for a few seconds, then it carried on. Aziraphale smiled to himself a little. “I mean, it’s always lovely, so thick and luscious and… firey, no matter what you do with it.”

Crowley allowed him a flick of a glance, as if to let Aziraphale know his attention had been caught. Of course it had, vain old thing. The Angel scraped the last morsels and crumbs of his dessert on his fork and licked it clean. “But I‘ve always been quite enamoured with you in curls. Like the turn of the first millenium, when BC became AD, do you remember what it was like?”

“Of course I remember, Angel. It was  _ my _ hair.” Crowley put his phone down, flat on the table, and moved his hand away from it. “I don’t recall you having such a soft spot though.”

“I distinctly do. I remember feeling awful that I found it quite so distracting at the crucifixion. What a dreadful angel I make. I wanted so much to touch it then.”

“You are the only angel worth knowing… _Touch_ it?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks ached with how hard he smiled. “Would you ever grow it like that again, for me?”

“I was a woman then.”

He scoffed. “As if you’ve ever paid any notice to all that caper.” 

Crowley pursed his lips and tipped his head in a touché gesture. “I’ll think about it.” And then he paid the bill, as he usually did. 

***

Glamorous long red ringlets and curls. Burgundy shadows, copper highlights, Titian lengths. All jumbled and swirled together over the arm of the sofa. Crowley was dozing when Aziraphale surfaced from his book. In fact, he had very little idea how long Crowley had actually been there, but that was nothing new. 

His hair, though, his hair was  _ glorious _ . It looked so silky, shining even in the dim light of the shop. And it was for him, Aziraphale knew. He’d asked a question yesterday, more than one, ‘ _ for me _ ’ he’d said, and Crowley had answered him. 

“May I touch it?” He asked ever so gently, in case Crowley really was asleep.

Crowley, of course, was not. “Please.”

Now, Aziraphale could have done the sensible thing, and perched on a chair beside him. Or even on the table between them. Run his fingers carefully over the red curls and called it a job done. 

He didn’t. 

Aziraphale moved with purpose, towards Crowley’s supine form, slung one leg over him and plopped himself comfortably down on Crowley’s lap. This move, understandably, forced a rather ungainly squawk from the man beneath him, but it was accompanied by a pair of hands grabbing around his hips and holding him in place. 

Crowley lifted his head, sending curls cascading around his face, full of weight and bounce, delightful non-stop movement. Aziraphale could only hope he had heard the meaning of his answer correctly. Considering he hadn’t been launched across the room by a defensive demon, it seemed likely. 

“Angel?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather touch it like this.” Aziraphale smiled cheekily, making sure his eyes twinkled in that way Crowley seemed to adore.

“No, no, I don’t mind at all.”

So he did as he had always wished to do. He reached out and slid his fingers deep into the roots, skating over the scalp above Crowley’s ears. It was as silken as he’d imagined: skin warm, but the hair cool, like water falling over his hands. He looked away from the firey tresses tickling over his pale fingers, to Crowley’s eyes - closed, eyelashes fluttering slightly. The sight pushed the light bubbling feeling in Aziraphale’s belly into keen production; filling and roiling his body with the twisting motions it made. 

Crowley’s lips parted on a sigh as he ran his fingers from warm root to cool tip. It was just too much of a temptation for Aziraphale, and he leant down slowly to place his own lips upon Crowley's. He felt the end of Crowley’s breath enter his own mouth, and then the lips changed shape, pushing forwards, fastening around Aziraphale’s, and  _ kissing _ him. 

Aziraphale’s hands were in the perfect location for that, actually, and he used them to support Crowley’s head and pull him up to sitting. Without losing contact at the mouth, obviously. It seemed to change the gear of the kiss somewhat, and Aziraphale found himself tangling his hands in the body of Crowley’s hair and pulling, using it to tip his head back and allow him to kiss harder. Definitely the right thing to do, if the noises Crowley accidentally made were anything to go by. 

The hands on his hips moved, one up to the curving back of Aziraphale’s neck, the other straight to his backside, taking a full palmful of flesh and squeezing, using it to draw him down until his weight was fully in Crowley’s lap. Aziraphale rolled his hips forward boldly, making Crowley hiss and bite at his mouth. 

“Pull it,” Crowley demanded breathily. 

Aziraphale did. A short tug that made Crowley gasp and then a long pull that weighed at his head and punched the air back out from his chest. Oh he liked it, he really liked it. Aziraphale steered his own mouth down to Crowley’s neck to suck at his throat. 

“Let me take you upstairs and I’ll pull it as much as you want,” he promised against Crowley’s skin.

“Yes. Please. Angel.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I was limited to 1000w. I know. I wrote until I had to stop. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos make my world go round. Please and thank you.
> 
> I'm on Twitter as [ @katnoggin](https://twitter.com/KatNoggin) \- please come and find me for further discourse.


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